


Tim's Secret

by LokiOfSassgaard



Category: Spaced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-19
Updated: 2008-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:38:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6306919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiOfSassgaard/pseuds/LokiOfSassgaard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim's keeping a secret from Daisy, and it's tearing them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tim's Secret

Daisy had finally made her first step to advancing along with the rest of the 21st century in the form of a desktop computer, acquired by undisclosed methods by Mike. The stated purpose for the machine was to cut down on all the lose papers lying about from that archaic typewriter Daisy had, until recently, insisted on keeping around; although she had donated it to Oxfam before the boys even had the new computer hooked up. It wasn't long before Tim set up internet services, not only creating a billion added distractions for Daisy, but throwing himself into a greater state of sleep deprivation upon he and Mike's discovery of an addicting new form of gaming that was the MMORPG.

Of course, with the new computer came the need for new toys and accessories to attach to it, sending Daisy to the shop for attachable speakers, and anything else that looked shiny and possibly useful. Whilst wandering through the countless aisles for everything imaginable, she found herself inexplicably amongst paper and pencils, and nowhere near any sort of fancy hi-tech gizmos or gadgets. She pushed on through the aisle, knowing that speakers and cables weren't to be found from where she'd already been, only to find herself deeper in the "arts and crafts" section of the supermarket. As she wandered further into shelf upon shelf of coloured pencils and wax crayons, she remembered hearing Tim say something the night before about being out of paints for his airbrush. Well, it wasn't so much a statement as it was an irritated string of expletives over the telephone, but the meaning was still the same.

"Oh, excuse me!" she said as a bored-looking employee walked into her line of sight. "I'm looking for paints. For a gift."

The employee, Sam, according to his name badge, sighed through his nose as he looked down the aisle. "What kinds of paints?"

Daisy put her hands on her hips as she thought about that. "Well, he uses them for... no... he does t his...and..." Skip to the end. "For his airbrush?"

Sam began walking down to the far end of the aisle. "Modelling?" he asked simply.

Daisy thought on that. She knew Tim had dozens of figures and models, but she wasn't sure if he'd actually built any of them, himself. Not that she'd have been surprised if she had. "No," she answered after a bit too long. "He does it on these little paper canvas things. Sometimes on the walls if he's in a mood."

The employee named Sam gave her a sideways glance before picking up rather large box, filled with small bottles of bold paints. "These come in dozens of colours," he said simply. "Just have him thin it out with a bit of water before using it." He handed her the bottle before rushing off before she could ask any further questions.

Daisy looked the bottle package, reading numbers and words that had absolutely no meaning to her, whatsoever. They might as well have been in French. On second glance, they appeared ver y much to be in French. Turning over the package, she found the price, but couldn't tell if thirty-five pounds was a fair price. Still holding onto the box of paints, Daisy looked over the rest of the selection, trying to gauge other prices. Most sets seemed to hover around £6.50, but this French set had more variety in colours, and appeared to be more of a professional brand than the rest.

Wandering out of the "arts and crafts" section, she soon found herself surrounded by toys. Everything from soft plush animals to robotic monsters. Knowing how jealous of one another some of the men of 23 Meteor street could be, Daisy began browsing over the tall shelves of imported plastic and plush, when the Dalek caught her attention. Twelve inches of radio-controlled, talking space mutant. Mike would love it.

She snatched up the one remaining package from the shelf before quickly making her way to the checkout stand. She gave the woman at the counter most of the contents o f her wallet, not realizing until she was already on the tube that she'd just spent fifty pounds, and didn't even get the speakers she'd originally gone in for.

 

Daisy returned home to find Tim and Mike both asleep together on the bean bag, PlayStation 2 controllers still in their hands.

"Evening, you two," she said as she banged the door, setting the Tesco bag on the kitchen table.

Tim let out a startled cry as he shot awake, immediately mashing buttons on the game controller. After a few moments, he jabbed Mike in the arm, his friend taking a slower approach to waking up.

"Where were you two last night?" Daisy asked casually as she started herself some tea.

"No, the minty green," Mike suggested, ignoring the conversation around him. "Over a few."

"We met this guy from online at a pub in Highgate," Tim answered as he tried to select a good colour for his Vauxhall Astra VXR. "I met him in a chat room when you were out with Twist."

Mike watched as Tim flipped through metallic colours to decorate his pixelated racer with, having already decided on a deep blue for himself. "Yeah! That one!"

"Oh, Tim, that's so tacky." She blew the dust out of her cup before setting it on the counter. "Why would you do something like that? There are perverts online."

Tim shrugged. "He just seemed so happy about meeting someone nearby. Ya know, like, if we didn't go, he'd have tracked our IP and found out where we live or something."

Daisy sighed, giving up on the conversation before it could go any further. She poured her tea and made her way to the sofa, having grown rather fond of watching Tim and Mike get angry and begin arguing over video games. "Oh, I got you guys something. S'on the table."

Tim and Mike forgot about their racers at once as they clambered out of the bean bag, climbing over one another to get to whatever was waiting in the plastic bag on the table. Mike got there first, p ushing Tim to the floor as he snatched up the bag, finding two brown paper-wrapped packages inside, each with one of their names on it. Mike handed Tim's over, both men tearing into the paper at once.

"Daisy, how did you know?" Tim asked, holding the paint set up examine. He walked over to the sofa, kissing Daisy lightly on the forehead.

"A little bird told me," she answered coyly, smiling up at Tim.

Tim retreated to his room for a moment to put the paints away while Mike began tearing into the plastic package from Daisy with his oversized pocket knife. After a few moments, Tim returned to the front room just in time to catch a bit of flying plastic to his face.

"Ow!" he cried out. "Mike!" Mike only had to hold up the Dalek for Tim to see, and all was immediately forgiven. "Does it come with batteries?" he asked quickly.

Mike opened the back of the remote and shook his head. "No," he replied simply as he picked up what was left of the package. " Takes double-A's and a nine-volt."

Tim rushed back into his room, and after some amount of rather loud digging, returned with several packs of the appropriate batteries, which were handed off to Mike without hesitation.

* * *

 

By the time Daisy woke up and dragged herself out of bed, Tim was already gone. He had a meeting with Damien Knox about a new comic, and despite having gone through the process successfully a few times already, felt the need to leave three hours early, just to avoid being late. With no one besides Colin in the flat, Daisy didn't bother putting something on over her bra, and wandered out to fix herself some tea before getting on the computer. She powered up the monitor, having learned early that Tim liked to download stuff overnight, and didn't appreciate the computer being turned off for any reason other than a quick restart when installing programs. She searched over the cluttered desktop, trying to find the Internet Explorer icon, but instead finding dozens of game icons and folders. She gave up on her search for the internet when the cursor found a folder marked TIM'S PORN, and curiosity got the best of her. She clicked on the folder, not sure if she should have been surprised or not over the huge amount of jpegs listed on the screen. Most were labelled with strings of numbers and letters, but one in particular -- marked 000daisy-xxx -- caught her attention.

"What?" She said aloud, hoping that whoever was featured in the blurry image just happened to be named Daisy.

Against her better judgement, she clicked on the file name. Rather than any perverted photograph, large black text on a white background opened, taking up the entire screen.

DON'T LOOK AT MY PORN! GET YOUR OWN!

Daisy sighed as she closed out the window, and subsequently the folder, relieved at Tim's apparently need to keep his rather public collection all to himself. As she resumed her initial search for tha t hidden Internet Explorer icon, there was a rather loud knock on the door. Daisy got up to answer it, realising at the last moment that she had neglected to put on a shirt.

"Just a moment!" she shouted as she rushed back to her room to fetch her jumper.

Pulling it over her head, she quickly made her way to the door, opening it to find a postman standing in the hall.

"The front door was open," he said, holding up a large brown box. "Have a good day."

"You, too," Daisy replied weakly as she looked at the box, which was from Amazon, and addressed to Tim. Shrugging, she took the box back to Tim's room, setting it on his art table next to the box of paints she'd purchased for him the week previous. She began to wonder how long until she'd get to see something Tim painted with them, before remembering that he'd often go for weeks at a time producing nothing further than just graphite sketches in his book.

 

Daisy was still in her sweats and ju mper, signing up for an account with a website, when Tim and Mike crashed into the flat, hands at one another's throats. Their thrashing and scraping in the kitchen as they knocked into the table went ignored until Daisy finished filling out the required form for her new account.

"Tim, you got something from Amazon, today," she said flatly. "I put it on your desk."

"Did you open it?" he asked, quickly pulling away from Mike.

"Why would I? It's yours."

Tim rushed into his bedroom, Mike close behind. He took Mike's ever present pocket knife, using it to carefully cut through the packing tape on the box. Before opening the large box, he stepped in front of his friend, making sure that the larger man couldn't see what was about to be revealed. Laughing quietly to himself, Tim pulled a few plastic-wrapped packages from the box, setting them aside, before finally allowing Mike to see what he'd purchased.

"Where did you get that?" Mike demanded, snatch ing the much larger Dalek than his own from Tim's hands. He turned the package over to read the features of the over-sized toy. "Just couldn't stand to have one the same size as mine, could you? How big is it?"

Tim grinned as he took the Dalek back, carefully opening into the box, as not to tear anything. "Eighteen inches. Go get yours! We'll make them fight!"

Mike's jaw dropped slightly as he stalled, just for a moment, before rushing out of the flat and upstairs, stomping at every step. Putting the box aside, Tim gathered up the appropriate batteries and rushed out to the kitchen, pushing aside the table to create a large enough combat arena.

Mike returned to the flat, setting his own Dalek on the floor as Tim still fiddled with the D-cell batteries his required.

"What's the matter, Tim?" Daisy asked as she got up to fetch herself her twelfth cup of tea since getting up that morning. "Get a bit of Dalek envy?"

"Piss off," Tim replied, snapping the door on the toy shut, thus securing the batteries.

He and Mike made the toys push one another across the linoleum surface while Daisy went back to the internet, having finally reached the point where she could customize her new account. It didn't take Mike long enough to deem the battle unfair, as Tim's Dalek was clearly in a higher weight class, and easily pushed its twelve-inch counterpart across the kitchen floor.

"That's not fair!" Mike insisted as he pushed the two toys apart. "I can't get any defensive moves in, because you're just pushing me into the wall!"

Tim sighed as he powered down his fighter. "Fine," he said, slightly annoyed. He put the Daleks up on the table before dragging it back to its proper place. "I'm gonna run down to the shop, anyway. Anyone need anything?"

"Jaffa Cakes," Daisy replied without looking away from the computer screen.

Tim retreated to his room, quickly fetching a beanie and his skateboard before rushing out of the flat, banging the door behind himself. Getting up from the floor, Mike shook his head as he gathered up the Daleks from the kitchen table, careful not to drop anything as he hefted them back to Tim's room.

"What's wrong with him?" Daisy asked from the doorway as Mike positioned the Daleks on a shelf, near Darth Vader and Lara Croft.

Mike shook his head. "Project went to someone else," he answered simply. "He'll be fine. Just give him a day."

"Oh." Daisy stepped into the room, her attention turning to the art table. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at the plastic-wrapped packages that Tim had hastily pulled out of his Amazon box.

"What?" Mike quickly turned to see what she was talking about, to see her carefully unwrapping one.

"This is paint," she stated flatly. "How many did he buy?" She tried to count out the amount of packages that were on the desk, but Mike stepped in the way, pushing her back slightly.

"Now, Daisy," he s aid, trying to go into negotiation mode. "You don't understand."

"Don't understand what?" Daisy asked, holding up the three brightly-coloured bottles of paint that were in the plastic wrap. "He bought this after I got him those other paints. I know he did! Why?" She slammed the bottles on the desk and looked down at the floor, noticing a large box awkwardly tucked under the desk. The box seemed as though it was too large to properly fit in its place, allowing whoever cared to look at it to see exactly what was being tucked away. Gasping slightly, Daisy slowly picked up a pack of coloured pencils from the stash of unopened art supplies. "Why would he do this?"

Mike shook his head as he reached out for the pencils, not expecting Daisy to hold them away from his reach. "It's just... Well. Timmy's very...particular."

"What? What are you saying?" Daisy asked, inching closer to Mike. "That nothing of this is 'good enough'?" She held the pencils up to Mike's face, giving him plenty of time to read the felt pen birthday note she had put on the front of the package.

Mike tried to step back, but found himself blocked by Tim's art table. "Daisy, no," he said. "Not... really. Well, kinda? But not like that!"

"How, then?" she asked.

"I can't get involved in this. It's not my place," he answered simply. "I promised I wouldn't say anything. This is between you and him."

Daisy brought her hand up to cover her mouth, realizing what Mike what telling her. "How long have you known about this?"

When Mike didn't answer, she threw the pencils on the desk and retreated to her own room, throwing the door shut with force enough to rattle the walls. All Mike could do was stand in Tim's room long enough to decide that he didn't want to be around for the fallout, and left the flat in favour of his own room, upstairs.

 

Tim returned to a dark flat, barely noticing that the only person in the front room was the do g.

"Daisy," he said casually as he began unloading his haul onto the kitchen table. "They didn't have orange. Is blackcurrant okay?" He looked toward the sofa, realizing with a start that he was in fact talking to Colin. "Daisy?... Dais?"

Forgetting the Jaffa cakes and lager he'd brought home from the shop, Tim slowly made his way back toward the bedrooms, startled to find his light on. He stepped cautiously toward the door, suddenly wishing very badly that he had a SPAS-12, or at least a Jericho to arm himself against whatever monster was surely hiding just beyond the door frame.

What he found was in fact more terrifying than the most badass mutant zombie from outer space that film could ever have created.

"Daisy?" he asked, stunned. "What are you doing in here?"

Daisy slowly pulled herself up from the floor beneath Tim's desk, holding a box of oil crayons in her hand. "Tim, if you didn't like them, you could have said something."

Tim too k the tiniest step back, pressing himself slightly up against the door frame. "I... What are you doing in my room?" he demanded.

His flatmate stepped closer, nearly shoving the box of crayons in his face. "You might as well have just given all this to Brian!" she said, already near tears. "At least he'd actually use them!"

"I... I used the graphite pencils!" Tim insisted. "I still do. I like them very much, in fact!" He tried to back up further, but only found his back pressed firmly against the wall. "But that's not the point! We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you didn't go around snooping through my stuff while I'm gone!"

"No, Tim," Daisy spat out. "That's not the point! You shouldn't be hiding these from me, just because you didn't like them."

Tim threw his hands into the air, shrugging wildly. "It's not that I don't like them; I... I do. Very much. I just... Well..."

"They're not good enough," Daisy finished. "I get the point, Tim." She slammed the crayons into Tim's chest as she started to leave the room.

"No, Daisy!" Tim insisted, starting to follow her. "It's not... You shouldn't have gone in my room in the first place!" He cringed as Daisy's bedroom door slammed shut, signalling the end of the argument, and thus starting the clock for Marsha to show up at the door. Tim knew from previous arguments that he had approximately fourteen seconds to flee the flat, lest he spend the rest of the evening listening to his land lady's drunken ramblings. Still wearing his beanie and jacket, he needed only to snatch up his skateboard as he rushed out of the flat, barely missing Marsha on his way out.

 

Daisy stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, barely noticing Tim asleep on the bean bag, although most likely because she'd rather ignore his presence all together than because his ridiculous shirt blended in with the rest of the old, stained fabric. She clumsily fixed herself some tea before moving to the computer. Not long after, Tim awoke with a jump, pulling his beanie off from his face.

"Marsha come down last night?" he asked as he awkwardly stumbled to the refrigerator.

"Mm-hmm," was Daisy's reply.

Tim sighed as he held the fridge door open. "You're still mad at me?"

"Mm-hmm."

Tim deflated slightly, letting the refrigerator door swing shut. "I'm going up to see Mike," he said, knowing he wouldn't be granted a response. He trudged up the stairs, pausing at the landing a moment before knocking on the door, not realizing until it was too late the implications of Marsha being downstairs the previous night.

"Morinin', Tim," the familiar drawl said as the door slowly swung open. Marsha stared at him from behind the barely open door over a wine glass. "Here to see Mike, I take it?"

"Yeah," Tim said, nodding sheepishly.

"He's in his room." Marsha stepped out of the way, letting Tim pass.

Not bothering to knock, Tim allowed himself into Mike's room, finding his friend in his pyjamas, reading a manual of some sort. Tim sat down on the floor, picking up a small action figure while he waited in silence for Mike to finish what he was reading. Several minutes of comfortable silence later, the manual was closed and Mike took the action figure from Tim's hands.

"Daisy isn't kickin' you out, is she?" Mike asked cautiously.

Tim shook his head. "No," he said, oddly relieved. "No, it's not that bad. Definitely could be better, though."

Mike shook his head. "You told her to stay out of your room, didn't you?"

Tim frowned. "Yeah," he admitted. "Stupid?"

"Extremely."

"Right."

"You can't stay up here for very long, though," Mike said as he reached for a jumper from the floor. "You got Marsha mad at me again." He pulled the jumper over his head before settling back down on the bed. "Every time you go and fuck something up, I get caught in the middle . I'm sick of it, Tim."

Tim cringed. Of course Marsha was on Daisy's side. "Well, what am I supposed to do?" he practically demanded. "She won't listen, and she's not even talking to me." He leaned against the side of Mike's bed and sighed. "I just want to be good at what I do," he said weakly.

"What? And you think lying to your flatmate will help you, there?" Mike demanded, getting up from the bed.

"I didn't lie to her!" Tim quickly scrambled to his feet, preparing to be choked or slapped by his friend.

Instead, Mike slowly opened his bedroom door. "No," he said, obvious in his disappointment. "You just never gave her the full truth." He stepped out of the room, leaving Tim alone in the only place he was even moderately welcome.

 

Mike knocked on the door twice before slowly letting himself into Tim and Daisy's flat.

"What do you want?" Daisy asked flatly from the computer.

Mike inhaled deeply, steeling himself as he closed t he door. Taking a step further into the kitchen, he noticed an open box of Jaffa Cakes on the table. "Ooh, blackcurrant," he said, helping himself to one before forcing himself back on track. "Daisy, listen,"  
he said, cautiously stepping closer to the annoyed woman. "There are some things you don't know about Tim."

"Like what?" she asked without looking away from the screen she was pretending to read. "That he's a massive wanker?"

Mike cringed. "No, we all know that."

"Mike, he's been lying to me," she pointed out, finally turning to look at him, "And you knew about it and didn't tell me, so you were lying to me, too!"

Mike shook his head. "Yes, I know," he admitted. "And I didn't say anything, because this is between you and Tim. Just like I knew that you two were lying to Marsha. I didn't say anything then, either, until Tim made it involve me, just like you're making this stupid thing involve me, now."

Daisy sat in silence for a moment, stunned. "So, if you're getting involved, then what's the big deal with Tim that I'm apparently too blind to see?" she asked coldly.

Mike frowned. "I can't tell you. That's strictly classified."

"Why not?" she demanded, spitting the words through her teeth.

Mike took off his yellow-lensed glasses and rubbed his face, before stepping up to Daisy's side. "Because what I can't tell you, only one other person in the world knows," he said quietly. "And that's Tim's mum." He replaced his glasses and retreated to the door, opening it slowly. "Timmy," he said curtly, unsurprised to find the man waiting in the hall.

"Mike."

The two walked past one another, a heavy silence falling over the room as soon as the door was shut. Stalling awkwardly, Tim stayed in the kitchen while Daisy pretended to read the same screen that had been on the monitor since Tim left to go talk to Mike.

"Daisy, come here," he said finally, making a path toward his bedroom.

"Why?" she asked flatly.

Tim stopped in his tracks, letting his arms drop to his sides. "Because," he said, sighing slightly, "we need to talk. Please."

Shrugging to herself, Daisy got up from the computer and followed Tim to his bedroom. Reaching the desk, he sat down on the floor and motioned for Daisy to do the same. She hesitated for a moment, finally giving in when she realized that Tim wasn't going to start until she was on the floor.

"I just want to know why, Tim," she said, not waiting for him to gather his words.

"I know you think that I don't appreciate..." He looked down at the box, which was quite a bit bigger than he'd realized. "... that I don't appreciate this, but I do. Really. Aside from my mum and Mike, no one's ever really taken what I do seriously." He took Daisy's hand in his own, partially to keep her from getting up and walking out. "I just didn't know how to say it, so I.... I didn't say anything. It was never my intention to hurt your feelings." He tightened the grip on her hand when he felt her try to back away.

"How to say what?" she asked bitterly. "That what I bought you isn't good enough?"

Tim buried his face in his free hand. "It's not that what you buy isn't good enough," he said, his voice beginning to strain. "It's that I can't use it."

"I don't see the difference."

Tim released Daisy's hand to look through the box, relatively confident that she wouldn't get up and leave. "Dais, some of this stuff is bloody expensive," he said, pulling out a set of coloured pencils. "I mean, real top-end brands. But I just... I don't... I don't know how to use these, though."

Daisy took the pencils from Tim's hands, turning the box over to look at the back. "What do you mean, don't know how? What makes these so different from the ones on your desk?" Tim only laughed awkwardly. "So," Daisy said slowly. "When you say you 'can't' use these, it's not that you're picky... it' s that you can't use them?" Tim nodded. "I don't understand. Why are they so different?"

Tim shrugged weakly. "Ever since I was old enough to read, I wanted to do comic books. Working for Dark Star was all I ever wanted to do. But I never took any art classes in school, because I was too scared. Most of it, I picked up on my own, but my mum taught me how to use colours. She always bought the same brands of everything, because it just made it easier to learn what the colours are."

"Tim, what are you saying?" Daisy asked softly. "You can't use these, because you don't know the colours?"

Tim shook his head quickly. "No, not... quite that." He sighed again as he reached up to the desk, felling around for a loose pencil. He held it up at an equal distance between himself and Daisy. "What colour is this?" he asked.

Daisy shrugged. "It's blue," she answered simply.

Tim bit his lip. "I see a really dark purple." He spun the pencil in his fingers until h is eyes found the embedded gold label in the paint. "This is, in fact, the lightest shade of blue that this particular brand of pencil comes in."

"You're colour blind?"

Tim nodded. "Extremely," he said quietly. "If my boss knew, I could lose my job."

"Tim, I've seen your coloured stuff," Daisy said, caught between wanting to believe her friend, but having evidence to the contrary. Tim shook his head.

"I've been using the same brand of pencils and markers since I was a kid," he explained, putting the box of coloured pencils back with the rest of the art supplies. "I know what's supposed to happen when you mix red and blue. I can't see the difference, but I know that Mediterranean blue is lighter than true blue. I wasn't lying when I said that I used those graphite pencils you got me for Christmas." He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the heat coming off of his cheeks. "You can't tell anyone," he pleaded.

Daisy took Tim's hands in her own. "I won't," she promised. "You just have to start being honest with me." Tim nodded weakly. The two sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, giving Tim a chance to collect himself. "So," Daisy continued, looking at the cardboard box that had been under Tim's desk for who knew how long. "What's the plan, then?"

* * *

 

Tim shifted the weight of the large box awkwardly as he rapped loudly on the door.

"Who's there?" a nervous voice called from inside the flat.

"It's Freddy Mercury!" Tim replied, wishing Brian would stop screening his neighbours.

Brian threw the door open, his face dropping to a disappointed frown upon seeing Tim standing in the hall. "What's that?" he asked nervously, eyeing the box in Tim's arms cautiously.

Tim shoved the heavy box into Brian's arms, for a moment fearing the other man might drop it on their feet. "Daisy and I were cleaning out the flat, and we came across a bunch of stuff that never got opened. Figu red you might appreciate it."

Brian finally looked in the box, nodding slowly as he quickly took a mental inventory. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Thanks." He retreated back to his flat, barely giving Tim a chance to step out of the way as he shut the door. Shaking his head at his neighbour, Tim kicked a rogue football against the wall as he returned to the flat he shared with Daisy.


End file.
